


Poetry

by AconiteArt



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Eating Disorders, Fairies, Genocide, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Murder, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Introspection, Past Character Death, Poetry, Prose Poem, Self-Harm, Skinning Alive, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, now it's time to get funky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2020-09-14 11:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20273989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AconiteArt/pseuds/AconiteArt
Summary: This is going to be where I put poems I write that are too short for their own page





	1. The Last Drop of Dew

**Author's Note:**

> The last fairy wanders through the streets  
Watching the people  
Looking for the rest of her kind  
Feeding the plants  
Thinking

The last fairy wanders through the streets  
Watching the people  
Looking for the rest of her kind  
Feeding the plants  
Thinking

The people can’t see her  
So wrapped up in their own lives  
They don’t see the little magic left behind  
How quickly they forget what they’ve broken

The most beautiful fairies were the first to go  
Seeking flowers and song  
They feared the smoke and metal  
The buildings that devoured their homes

These streets are so crowded  
A faceless horde of people  
Moving as a single being  
But pretending no one’s there

The most powerful fairies were next  
Looking for a fresh haven  
Not thinking of where they were needed  
Or who they left behind

Cars race by on hardened streets  
An avalanche of metal and noise  
Each engine brought a thunderclap  
And a cloud of toxic dust

The tricksters fled their games  
Refused to toy with man  
Mankind had lost its fear  
And instead gathered their iron

As each group fled  
The city grew powerful and grey  
The soot built, the oil spilled  
The color seeped away

Those that flittered among the birds  
Led them far away  
Ducks and gulls and pigeons  
Were left forgotten and betrayed

The flower folk were broken  
Their petals ripped and razed  
The survivors still are hiding  
Buried far away

The Naiads had been poisoned  
Their waters moved and trashed  
The oil poured into their gills  
And drowned them in their lakes

The dryads were uprooted  
Torn up and left to rot  
They all died in the early days  
Swallowed in mankind's machines 

The humble bug folk were the last to leave  
Determined to keep their home  
They all agreed to keep concealed  
Anything to hold on

That resolve was broken  
Dissolved in the poisoned waves  
Even they abandoned man  
Full of toxins and regrets

Except her

She alone was left behind  
One last beacon of her kind  
But her resolve was wavering  
With every passing day

There was no magic left here  
Save her own  
That can’t hold out forever  
Not all on her own

She was fading  
Magic and life  
Slipping through her fingers  
Swallowed by the burning wind

Moth wings hung limply from her back  
Faded and decayed  
Her strength and flight had fled  
To keep her going in the coming days

Her hair had once been pink  
Fluttering curls of spider silk  
Now it was a tangled mass  
Hanging limp and grey

Petal soft skin of cherry wood  
Had once shone with bright tattoos  
The tapestry of hues was gone  
A shadow all that’s left

She had not mourned the loss of her beauty  
There was no one who would see it  
To reveal herself to man  
Took more magic than she had

Did man regret it?  
Could they remember what they’d done?  
She didn’t think they ever would  
Even see the destruction of their hand

She had been angry  
Had hexed and screamed and raged  
That fire had been quelled  
By the suffocating weight of grief 

It hurt too much to look back  
Looking forward was no better  
She’d sealed her fate  
When she had stayed in her hollow

All she could do was think of now  
Of the gardens and squirrels and trees  
The last few spots of nature  
The little left undecayed

The sidewalk turned, though none looked its way  
An oasis of life beaconed to her  
She turned  
The crowd flowed forward

She crumpled in the little garden  
Leaning against a cold stone wall  
Her legs were shaking  
Chest feeling breathless and tight

Every time she sat  
It got a little harder to convince herself  
To get up again  
To keep going

This was a nice little garden  
Clean and neat and young  
But the heat had wilted the blooms  
Stems drying and bent

Long ago this would have been a nursery  
Pixies born from blooms  
These cradles were all empty  
And never would be used

That didn’t seem fair  
To just let these flowers die  
Maybe she still had it in her  
To try and break the silence

Her head leaned back  
Resting on old dead stone  
Rousing the power from her chest  
And conjured up a song

Her voice was soft and jagged  
Her magic weak and sad  
But it was enough  
They could hear her cry

The flowers rose from their weary slouch  
Listening to her sing  
Tasting the power that should have been their’s  
But that had been taken long ago

Life coiled in dry stems  
Buds peered out from behind their leaves  
Petals spread proudly  
The air grew sweet and light

She felt fuzzy  
Draped along the stone  
The song pulled from everywhere  
For once she didn’t feel alone

The plants absorbed her song  
Breathing in new life  
The sun shined down on the little garden  
Watching her little show

Every song has to end  
Her last few notes echoed through the air  
The flowers sat eagerly  
Waiting for her to continue

No more song came  
They looked up at the sun  
Searching for answers

The wind swept away brown leaves, a splash of color on the dead concrete


	2. The Sink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two people stand alone together

The faucet’s running  
One pump of soap is enough  
Make sure to scrub your hands  
Don’t stop, they’re still dirty  
Stop sniffling  
Rinse- keep scrubbing  
The water’s so hot  
Good

Someone stands at your side  
Using the other sink  
You don’t look at each other  
Try to ignore the heat of another body in the cramped space  
If he ignores your blotchy red cheeks  
You’ll ignore his gaunt bloodless face

Its none of your business  
He doesn’t smell the vomit  
You don’t smell the blood  
He won’t look at your loose teeth  
You don’t look at his wrists

You shut off the sink  
It’s leaking  
Paper towels  
Make sure to scrub your hands  
Ignore the burning in your throat

You don’t look at his face  
He doesn’t look at yours  
You need to get back to class  
Neither of you acknowledge the other  
As you leave shoulder to shoulder


	3. My lovely little peach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's such a pretty little thing, begging me to tear her apart

I run my hands over her supple skin, studying her. She hardly yields to my touch, young and firm little thing that she is. The soft fuzz of her cheek floods me with desire. My lips ghost her skin, breathing in her lovely scent. Delectable. I find my mark, the soft expanse of blushing skin. My teeth pierce her flesh, fresh juices flooding my mouth. Invigorated by the taste, I dig deeper, tearing her firm yet tender flesh. I rip a piece of her away, staring at the weeping hole in her side. She’s so stoic through all this, refusing to submit even now. Not an ounce of pain mars her rounded face. I swallow my first taste of her, fluids dripping down my chin. There’s no holding back now. I go in, again and again, the initial tenderness vanishing in favor of ravaging every part of her. I strike bone, flesh peeling back from its pitted surface. She’s such a sweet girl, so tender. She’s laying back and letting me break her, not even a token protest passes her lips. What a pity, I’d been looking for a fight. My hands are covered in her slick. The little thing was probably enjoying this, being torn apart and swallowed. That’s what she was bred and bought for after all. She’s running out of flesh to give. I caress her exposed bones, ready to end this. The last shreds of her succulent flesh disappear between my teeth. She’s unrecognizable now that her pretty little face was torn away. I discard her useless remains without a thought. She left a mess all over me, they’re always so inconsiderate. I wash away any evidence of what I’ve done. Better to deal with it now than letting all her juices dry onto the floor. Her taste lingers on my tongue. My lovely little peach is already half-forgotten, even as I'm pulling pieces of her from between my teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a little idea I had a while back that I just now put into writing. Nothing dirty is actually happening here. This is literally about some creep eating a peach. I wanted to describe eating a peach in the most viscerally gross way possible. So, I made it sound like it was a metaphor for sex/murder when it is in fact not symbolic at all.


	4. Tropical breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So feisty this one is. She's fighting against me, even with a knife pressed against her chest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel/companion to the previous chapter

She’s been feisty from the beginning, I’ll give her that. She fights off my hands even now. She’s much thicker-skinned than the last girl I’d taken. That body of hers leaves an impression, that’s for sure. Tough, hearty skin lays over toned flesh. She’s truly an exotic beauty, not ready to kneel for me. Despite her strong disposition, her face is flushed in my presence. No matter how tough she acts, she’s just like all the others. Still, my previous approach won’t work with her. The last was sweet and submissive, this one simply requires a bit more… creativity. A knife ought to leave her more open to my advances. I ghost the blade over her skin, anticipation building in both of us. Where to start, where to start. The tip finally pierces her skin, beads of moisture already gathering at its edge. I flick my tongue over her entrance, tasting her. She’s as sweet as I’d hoped. I slip the knife under her skin, slowing peeling it up from the flesh underneath. Her juices start running down my arms, pooling on the table. More and more skin gathers on the floor, letting her delectable scent wash over me. I tell myself to wait, to be civilized. I carve off a piece of flesh, struggling to pull it away from the bone. She’s a fighter down to the core, it seems. Finally, the moment I’ve been waiting for. My teeth sink into the glistening chunk of meat. Her juices soak into my tongue, flooding me with her flavor. I can’t help the shudder of delight that runs through my shoulders. Growing frantic, I slice away more and more of her skin. This pretense of refinement grows tiring. I’m all alone with her, and no one knows or cares where she is. The knife falls to the table, my civility left behind in favor of a savage sense of pleasure. Teeth rip into her side, tearing ribbons of wet flesh from her form. Her slick is everywhere. I run my tongue up against her bleeding walls, rubbing against her bones. Delicate strands of meat are left plastered to my cheeks, fluids dripping down my chin. Her body, broken and dying as it was, still was clinging to a vision of survival. Flesh refused to pull away from the bone, desperately holding on to her long desecrated dignity. I love it when they fight back. The easy flesh of higher layers is sucked down my gullet with little fanfare. I run my teeth over her bones, sucking out the life-giving fluids coating them. This innermost part of her is far sweeter than any other. I drink her dry, taking in every drip of her climax. The rest is abandoned, buried in a dumpster. She’s one of the messiest I’ve taken in, her fluids coating both me and the table. Watching that proud spirit break was worth the cleanup. Her flesh was stuck between all my teeth, lodged deep. It didn’t want to leave. Such a pretty, feisty girl she used to be. In the act, that was certainly a lovely quality. Now, It's growing tiresome. I've eaten my fill, yet here she is: left as nothing but a bleeding wreck, still begging me to take her. Pathetic, really. Well, there was always the next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time, the man had a mango. This and the peach thing are some of the worst, grossest things I've written. Not the most disturbing, that has to go to Contrition, but still. Why do I keep doing this? And why do I want to do it again?


	5. Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College classes have started, so hopefully, I'll be more motivated to write

A handful of bones, dusty but young  
Clickaclack clickaclack they say  
Rough and smooth, dead and alive  
They fall through your hands one by one

Ten vertebrae hang from a chain  
Holding tight  
Held with thread  
Separated in sequence 

A rib dripping ink  
All over the floor  
All over your hands  
All over your face

An ulna rests against your throat  
Slipping beneath the skin  
Sliding down down down  
Sleeping in your chest

A femur’s left within your grip  
A flick of force and sharpened shards   
A flitter of a magpie’s wing  
As it flutters from the shell


End file.
